Stories of Shadow Era: Prologue
by NachyoChez
Summary: My very first Fanfiction for the Shadow Era universe. It was meant as an open letter from a member of the Shadow Faction, to tell everyone how this war began. It too was based on the original prologue, so nothing in this is still currently held as truth.


To whomever finds themselves in possession of this letter,

I put forward the following thoughts and story for the betterment of your mind and in hopes of any reconciliation to this unnecessary war:

Two men find themselves staring at a wall. One man sees the wall as white, the other as gray. Who sees this wall wrongly? Is it so inconceivable that one stands at such an angle that the light shining upon the wall bleaches away the gray to their eyes? If asked this question you will find few men who will claim a side, unless they themselves are placed in before that wall. Such is the situation the kings of Nekrha and Egaras found themselves in.

I'm sure many have labeled Keldor a monster, a being of evil, and such other nonsense. I'm equally sure few of his contractors have taken the time to learn his motives. Why is it so easy to hate another person if you stop thinking of them as a fellow human? I suppose that is just one of the many endearing traits of humanity. It's of such little surprise that Keldor abandoned that humanity for the sake of his people.

Yes, contrary to the wanton hatred of the people who oppose him, Keldor's every action has been for his people. Imagine a king, powerful and in control of a vast empire, seeing his court falling into greed and conspiracy. Knowing an assassin's blade is but a heartbeat away from taking your life's breath. You have no offspring to pass the crown to for you've spent too long battling the corruption of your own leadership to find a woman who wanted more than the shining gold upon your brow. Such a fate can befall any king who loves his people too much. Keldor couldn't in good conscience leave his people to such a terrible future, and thus he began to look for ways to prolong his life.

His story, as I was fortunate enough to witness, was as simple as this tale:

Prolonging one's life did not seem that complicated of a task. At first it was just the mundane. Keldor brought in more soldiers for his protection, detain corrupted officials, and execute traitors before 'justice' system had the chance to prove the irony of its name. Then his age brought with it malady after malady. Herbs and medics helped, but it wasn't long before healers and priests of Vesmana took to his chambers to keep the king healthy and able. One could never be sure if it was the magic or the priestess' scant robes that kept King Keldor's heart strong, but neither did anything to stop age from coming on.

The king knew the day was still approaching when death would force him to abandon his people. Keldor had never been one for giving up and did not hesitate to invest heavily in his quest. He sent his most studied scholars, strongest warriors, most faithful priests, and wisest sages out into the world of the creator to find the answers to his own mortality. Few of them ever returned to his side, and none of those that did came with the answers he sought. By the time it seemed the reaper could no longer be delayed, his kingdom's treasury had all but been depleted. It was in his eleventh hour, as he lay near the end of his life, when the aged man awoke to the strange sensation of a shadow-man sitting at his side.

He would have jumped from the sheets had his frail body yet possessed the strength. The bed showed no signs of indention from the figure sitting atop the sheets, and Keldor felt no warmth from its body. He was terrified despite somehow knowing the presence; it was one who had walked along side him dozens of times in battle, and had been his constant companion for his twilight years. Sitting beside him was his own death.

Keldor opened his mouth to speak, to ask any of the millions of questions buzzing in his mind. How many men got the chance to speak to Death? Surely, this was part of his reward for a life well lived. Before the words could form, the shadow was already answering the most important question.

"Yes, old friend, I am here to collect your soul," whispered the soft voice. "That, however, does not mean I am here to take your life."

The king was stunned. Take his soul but not his life? What could that mean? Again, before thought could take to lip, the end of him spoke.

"My master sees the love you have for your people, and is moved. He wishes to bring your kingdom to prominence. He wishes to give you the chance to prove yourself the leader we know you are. Not the leader of men, but the leader of worlds."

The shadow spoke words that held no hint of trickery of deceit, words that carried into the soul of the old king. His people never without their leader, they would be bringing his light and love to the whole of the world. Such a magnificent gift obviously had to carry too high of a cost. Keldor had always been a quick study, and he'd already learned better than to speak to his would be benefactor. Instead he simply looked to it for the answers. And though it was only the form of a man, Keldor swore he could feel it smiling at him as it spoke.

"The cost is only that you be the leader we want you to be and accept this gift in return for your patronage. That you bring all the people of this world to the knowledge of your new God, and say His name."

Keldor needed no more incentive, nor instruction. He forced his wearied, old body from the warm sheets and into the cool night air. Already his bones felt as though they were near snapping from the simple stress of standing, but the King would show no signs of weakness tonight. When he went to a single knee and prostrated himself upon the icy stone floor it was out of pure deliberation. Death had no need to say the name of his God, it was already upon his tongue.

"Seroth, Ruler of the Underworld, I am yours."

There was no rush of power, no bright lights. Only the soft clank as his crown fell from the nightstand, and the pater as it rolled before him before coming to a complete stop. The air around the ornate headpiece shimmered as the metal heated, slowly melting into a ring of molten gold upon the floor. Keldor could see small runes forming in the remnants as more and more energy seemed to be seeping into the center.

The floor within it fell away into an infinite blackness, swirling with hate and despair. The laments of untold lost souls cried out for help, but he had not time for them. His focus was purely on the blade that slowly came forth from those depths. No gilt, no shine, just a cold iron sword cast in the fires of the underworld; cast for him.

He reached for the sword, hesitating for the briefest of the moments. He needed no encouragement, just a moment to embrace the joy of his fate. His fingers lingered around the leather of the hilt, the texture unfamiliar to him but somehow belonging to him. It was passion like no woman had ever given to him, power greater than all the stories he'd been read as a child. At least he could endure the taunting no more and he took the blade firmly in hand.

He wasn't sure how, but he was standing once more. He was standing without pain, his breath deep and healthy. He felt no pulse against his flesh and the hilt, but such a thing was paltry and beneath him now. It was time to show his people that their king had returned.

"No," spoke the raspy voice of Death, lingering on the bed still. "A monarch needs a crown to maintain power. He needs a council to decide things alongside him, an army to act as his power. You need none of these things now, these are YOUR people. This is the fact you need show them, Lord Keldor."

When dawn rose, it gave way to a cleansing flood. The blood of his corrupt council, who had spent their last night belittling one another and posturing for the seat of the former king, washed away the kingdom of hold. The bravest of his warriors and guards knew the king's message and joined alongside him. Ter Adun, among his most faithful, was a mere blacksmith. But on that day he took his hammer to the forging of a new world through the bones and flesh of any who stood against his king. When at last he fell to the wounds inflicted by the guard, some accounts put him as having removed an entire battalion of traitors from the ranks.

When the sunset came Keldor expressed to those people faithful enough to have survived the day his desire to lead them into a bright new world. He told them if their God's wishes, that they need not fear him or death ever again. The newly reborn Lord was not foolish enough to miss the looks of dubious belief shared by some of his kin and so he reached out to Seroth. He felt the power pulse through the blade and simply smiled.

As the crowd watched he walked to the body of the fallen blacksmith. The man was already the stuff of legends, but Lord Keldor was not satisfied with stories. Ter Adun would need to prove himself time and time again, as the former king had, if he was to receive the blessing of the underworld. Keldor pressed the Sword of Seroth into the corpse's chest, severing the heart. In its place he left a small fraction of the underworld, connecting the soul to its body once more.

When he removed the blade, Ter Adun, his newest General, rose from the ground. The man simply nodded to his Lord before turning to face the people. His hammer rushed into the air as he let loose a triumphant scream. Lord Keldor too turned to his people with a smile.

"Now you see. With our God and your Lord at your side, we will bring this world to heel!"

The moon's light shined into the yard as a strange wolf life monster strolled between the members of the crowd, smiling from one person to the next as one might look upon a delicious roast. At last it arrived at the king's feet, placing a small, brilliant crystal at his feet. He knew it from the stories his scholars had brought back to him. This creature, a Wulven one scholar had called it, had just delivered unto him a Shadow Crystal.

"Your armies," the creature growled, "shall not be alone. So commands OUR God.

I know many of you who read this will accuse Keldor of some great sin or another, but believe me when I say his only crime was not accepting the kindness of Seroth sooner. Yes, you followers of Teroth will scream some sanctimonious dribble about Seroth wanting the end of the world, but ask yourself this: when was the last time Teroth brought you back to life?

I thought so.

Thaddeus


End file.
